Reminder of the Rain
by Japyra
Summary: Ginny wonders in the rain. What if Harry hadn't died? Well then, he wouldn't have been Harry ,now would he?


**My first HP one-shot. I have a story going and some horrible writer's block is stopping its progress. So I decided to free-write this to try and break. Sad, sweet, hopefully decent.**

**Disclaimer: When I own Harry Potter, you'll know it.**

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Ginny wonders in the rain.

When the sky turns to ash and adorable dogs turn onto feral beasts in the sky, draping their heavy load. When the wind rushes to meet the sea in song, sweeping by its cold fingers. When the chorus of heavens clap to their dance in the drops. When the dragon trapped in the sky breaths his heavy fire down in shocking bolts.

She loved the lightening, she loved the rain.

The youngest Weasley once searched about the history of rainstorms.

They were both a gift and a blessing. They were necessary for life just as able to take souls to death.

The Native Americans of long ago had done tribal dances to try and induce the rain god.

She had done that once, her red locks swinging in the dry air as pale limbs flung themselves gracefully around. Apparently she wasn't Indian.

The witch enjoyed the rain, and the lightening that chorused with thunder, and the winds that swept fingers against her face because they reminded her.

The Weasley daughter was a competitive Quidditch player, an Auror-in-training, and one of the most active speakers on banning the dark arts. Life consumed her sometimes, made her forget.

But in the rain Ginny remembers and she wonders.

What if?

That was the unspoken question in her hazel eyes.

The drops fell from the sky and plastered her bright hair against her pale, pretty face. They wet her lashes and dribbled down her sharp nose. But above all, they let her dream; if only for a moment.

Dreams of veridian eyes blocked by a rogue strand of untidy black hair. Memories of a deep, worried, aged, and yet wonderful voice. Thoughts about the man called Harry Potter.

And what if he was here?

What if, all those years ago, Voldemort hadn't marked Harry, but rather the less competent Neville?

What if on the seeker's first year at Hogwarts, he had joined forces with the Dark Lord rather then oppose him?

What if, in the second year, the reluctant celebrity hadn't come down to save her and escaped the wrath of the most dangerous wizard, past and present.

What if during the third year, the boy-who-lived hadn't believed Sirius and allowed his godfather to be captured?

What if while in the fourth year, the Parselmouth hadn't been selected in the Goblet of Fire?

What if within the fifth year, the self-initiated hero hadn't tried to save his beloved Sirius?

What if inside his sixth year, Dumbledore hadn't died?

What if, at the funeral, Harry hadn't broken up with her?

What if after her brother's wedding, the last Potter hadn't gone on a Horcrux Hunt?

What if the green-eyed teen hadn't been the last Horcrux?

And above all, that one last question.

What if Harry hadn't died.

Ginny had pondered upon this so for so long that she had thought of answers.

If Neville had been marked, the Harry wouldn't have existed, not as the same boy she loved.

If the seeker had joined Voldemort, then he wouldn't be selfless.

If the reluctant celebrity hadn't saved her from Tom Riddle then he would not be bold.

If the boy-who-lived had given up his godfather then he wouldn't be trusting.

If the Parselmouth hadn't been selected to play in the Tri-Wizard Tournament then he wouldn't be star-crossed.

If the self-initiated hero hadn't gone to save Sirius then he would not be loving.

If Dumbledore had lived then he would have been protected.

If Harry had not broken up let her go she would have followed him to death.

If the last Potter hadn't gone on a Horcrux Hunt then he wouldn't be powerful.

If the green-eyed teen had not been the last piece of Voldemort's soul then he would have lived.

But...

If Harry hadn't died, he wouldn't be her Harry.

Because Ginny Weasley loved every piece of Harry Potter. She loved him beyond what the world saw him as. The red-haired witch knew every contour of his soul, and she loved it so much it ached.

Behind her hazel eyes, the witch knew.

She loved what had killed the man. She loved his spirit.

And without it he would have lived, but he would not be the same.

When it rains, Ginny remembers despite the busyness of the world.

Because the rain cries for people who have forgotten how to cry themselves.

The heavens mourn for Harry Potter, just as they do the little freckle-faced girl who died with him.

He died because he loved the world more than himself.

She died because she loved him.

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